


These Wings Were Made to Fly

by athletiger



Series: Discord Events [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Wings, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Steve Rogers, Domestic Avengers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Stark Tower, Steve Feels, The Avengers (2012) - Freeform, Top Tony Stark, Wingfic, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-26 00:30:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20733281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/athletiger/pseuds/athletiger
Summary: Steve’s heart ached in pain, and his eyes burned with unshed tears. The first words that came out of his mouth were hoarse and raw. “What’s wrong with my wings ma?”His ma wasn’t happy that his translucent wings turned to something colorful when he finally came of age for it to molt; she looked terrified when she looked at them. He knew that, with the way Sarah looked at them, his wings weren’t something to be proud of, no matter how beautiful he initially thought they were.Sarah slowly walked over to him, trying to mask her fear and her sadness, coming up to hug him. But he noticed that that hug was slightly more impassioned; she was drawing away from him.“Black wings are bad luck,” she said into his ear. “They remind people of death. Don’t ever show anybody your wings.”





	These Wings Were Made to Fly

**Author's Note:**

> I kinda lost my mind writing this fic. Had a plot bunny that _needed_ to be written. 12 hours later, this happened.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who eyed my fic and were so excited for it, but special thanks to [sharky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MountainRose/pseuds/MountainRose) for cheering me on the entire time and for being so helpful with birb anatomy, as well as beta it.
> 
> Thank you to cheerreader [Arcade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArcadeGhostAdventurer) for the constant cheer, and [anoooooo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/march_hyde/pseuds/march_hyde) for the beta at 5 am!
> 
> _'Cause wings are made to fly_  
_And we don't let nobody bring us down_  
_No matter what you say, it won't hurt me_  
_Don't matter if I fall from the sky_  
_These wings are made to fly._  
\- "Wings" by Little Mix
> 
> Completing the fill "I'm not good enough for you."

Exactly two years after his wings were supposed to change, ten-year-old Steve Rogers felt a slight burning sensation emananting in his flight muscles and radiating down his spine. While the ache in his back felt more painful than normal, the thought of his Ma coming home early from work to celebrate his birthday lifted his spirits, and he did his best to ignore the wave of pain that blossomed.

He traipsed up the stairs, pausing more than once to catch his breath, before he let himself into the apartment, breathing heavily through his mouth and biting off small whines of pain. His back twitched, and then it burned, a fiery heat that coarsed down the entire length of his wing muscles and into his feathers.

That time, he couldn’t stop the painful moan he let slip out of his mouth. He hunched over, staggering a few steps and bracing himself against the wall, moving ever so slowly towards the bathroom. He bit his lip slightly too hard; he tasted blood in his mouth as he forced himself to move.

It felt much too long before he gripped the doorway with a white-knuckled grip, looking at himself in the dirty bathroom mirror. He stared at his sickly face, the pallor of his skin more pale than normal, and then he turned to see the source of the pain that radiated down his back.

His wings...they were finally molting, shedding all the translucent feathers off his back to replace them with new feathers...colored ones, as a signal of the coming of age.

Steve stared at them as they grew in. Then he looked back. His fingers, unbidden, reached over to touch them, and he shuddered slightly when they were too sensitive for his curious touch. But they were soft, and Steve admired them.

As an artist, he appreciated the beauty of everything, from the way the rickety kitchen table held steadfast to its duty despite it threatening to topple over on any given day, to the fallen curls of grey hair that his ma wore upon her head. But when his wings molded into their true colors, he couldn’t help but stare at them, mesmerized by the way they soaked up the sunlight that filtered through the window and glistened.

He thought they were beautiful.

-

“Steve, I’m home!” Sarah called out into the apartment when she walked through the door.

For once, Steve’s ma had come home before the sun had even set.

Steve looked at himself in the mirror one last time, stroking them smooth. He preened. The ache had slowly dissipated once Steve had finished molting, and all that was left was the slightly sensitive sensation that rippled down his spine when he touched them.

“Steve?”

He called back, “I’m coming!”

Steve was essentially bouncing through the door, nearly missing the doorway and knocking his head against the door jamb instead. He sidestepped quickly. He was so excited, vibrating out of his skin, feeling the air filter through his new feathers. “Ma, you’ll never guess what just happened.”

“And what’s that?”

Steve stretched out his wings as he entered the living room, showing off his new set of wings. “Just got them!”

He never expected his ma to let out a little scream of horror, eyes widening in shock, before she covered her mouth with her hands, stifling the sound that came out of her mouth. But already the damage had been done, and Steve’s wings wilted.

“They’re beautiful,” Sarah said finally, but the words were a bit shaky, a bit too late. Steve took a step back. His face fell.

Steve’s heart ached in pain, and his eyes burned with unshed tears. The first words that came out of his mouth were hoarse and raw. “What’s wrong with my wings ma?”

His ma wasn’t happy that his translucent wings turned to something colorful when he finally came of age for it to molt; she looked terrified when she looked at them. He knew that, with the way Sarah looked at them, his wings weren’t something to be proud of, no matter how beautiful he initially thought they were.

Sarah slowly walked over to him, trying to mask her fear and her sadness, coming up to hug him. But he noticed that that hug was slightly more impassioned; she was drawing away from him.

“Black wings are bad luck,” she said into his ear. “They remind people of death. Don’t ever show anybody your wings.”

What she didn’t say but Steve heard loudly and clearly was that his wings reminded _ her _ of death too, and that she was scared of him and his wings, bringing death to their front door. And even as she told him she still loved him, Steve sensed that their easy relationship was no longer there because they were tainted by his wings.

-

If Steve thought that being teased for his translucent wings not molting when he came of age, he found that being teased for becoming wingless was worse.

His wings shifted uncomfortably within the confines of his back brace that meticulously hid his wings from sight.

“Wingless, flightless, grounded through and through,” they chanted around him, “Pinioned, primeless, a freak, that’s you!”

Because while there were some people in society that didn’t have wings, those people were few and far between, considered freaks because they didn’t have wings.

If his wings were freed like all the other children who crowded around him and teased him, he would have wrapped himself in his wings and let the sounds drown out. However, as it was with his wings strapped tightly to his back, he felt naked and exposed, barrelled by the hurtful words.

It just happened. Steve reached out blindly and smacked Archie hard in the face so that he went with a grunt. But the teasing stopped, the words dying in their throats. Blood spurted out of Archie’s nose, and Steve should feel sorry about it.

Mostly, the pain in his fist felt good, and for the first time since he got his wings, his chest eased. Granted, the ache never really went away, but Steve felt like he could breathe now.

Archie stood up, his face bloodied and his lips curled into a sneer. “Freak,” he spat out, holding his broken nose tenderly in his fingers, before he stomped away.

The other kids whispered “freak” under their breaths too, shying away from him when he looked at them.

Only the new kid, Bucky, stayed. “Mean punch you packed there,” he remarked, staring down at Steve’s split knuckles.

Steve sighed and flexed his hand, feeling the pain radiate down his arm. “You should go away. They’re not wrong. I’m a bit of a freak.”

“Yeah, alright.” Bucky shrugged. “But as you noticed, I don’t have friends either, so you’ll have to do.”

It was so flat, sounded so insulting, yet Steve found himself unwillingly smiling at him. “Are you sure you want to be near me? They’re going to call you a freak too.”

Bucky tossed his arm over Steve’s shoulders, his wings fluttering behind them. They were a gorgeous blue that reminded Steve of the ocean, rippling beautifully in the fall breeze. “I’m a freak anyway for being the new kid. Might as well be freaks together.”

Steve chuckled. 

Bucky lied - the girls in their class were all taken with him, chatting him up and brushing their fingers into those soft blue feathers in hopes that Bucky would pay attention to him. Even the guys were taken with him because he was one of them.

Steve was not.

-

Steve looked at his wings in the mirror everyday and hated them. He didn’t know why he stared at them: punishment, perhaps, for molting them black? Penance? Steve wasn’t sure, but he looked at them and gritted his teeth.

There was a bottle of bleach sitting on the sink countertop. With shaking fingers, he uncapped the lid. The smell was potent, almost overwhelming, but now, he didn’t care. He couldn’t take it anymore, all the hatred and all the teasing, all the pitying looks on all the adult faces, as if they could see his wings through the brace.

Steve nearly dropped the bottle, and he cursed, scrambling to grip onto the bottle more tightly. He walked into the bathtub and stretched his wings out. He looked back at them.

“It’s going to be better,” he promised himself, and then he poured the bottle of bleach over his wing muscles, letting the liquid seep down into his feathers.

When all was said and done, the feathers looked all mottled, and there were streaks of white interspersed with black.

Steve sat down in the tub, let his wings hang freely behind him, and sobbed into his hands.

-

“Why do you hang out with me?” Steve finally asked during lunch one day.

Bucky hummed, plucking a piece of ham from Steve’s plate and eating it. Steve laughed and batted away his hand when he tried reaching for another piece. “Because I know what it’s like to be on the outside,” Bucky finally offered. “My baby sis is flightless.”

“Oh,” Steve said, looking down at his plate. But he wasn’t flightless, but he could essentially be one, with the way he tucked his wings into their brace every day. He hadn’t stretched his flight muscles in months.

It wasn’t the same, not really, with Bucky’s sister being completely flightless and Steve being flighted. Steve would have preferred being flightless if it meant that he didn’t have to stare at his wings when he passed the mirror every time.

He would have preferred the curse of being flightless over the curse of being black-winged.

“Being flightless isn’t that bad,” Steve defended. _ Not like having black wings. _

“No,” Bucky agreed. “But my baby sis cries every time she has to tell people that she doesn’t have wings, and it’s my job to be a good big brother and tell her that I love her anyway, flightless or not.”

They sat there in silence, finishing up their lunches.

“Besides,” Bucky said in a conspiratorial voice, “I love seeing the excitement on her face when I take her out flying. I get to hold her and fly with her. Wouldn’t be able to do that if she had wings.”

“Yeah,” Steve said, and he smiled at the Bucky told him all the stories about his sister flying in the air with him.

-

His wings were all mottled black and white like a zebra. But a zebra’s coat was prettier. Steve stared at himself in the mirror, hating his own reflection because of them.

He looked down at the feathers. Once soft and silky, Steve’s wings looked just as sickly as his body was, patches of dried out white feathers interspersed with patches of nothing. It was ugly and terrifying, and Steve couldn’t help the fact that his eyes burned with anger and grief at his wings.

The first pluck felt good. All he did was reach over and snapped a primary feather off the coat of broken wings, seeing it fall into his hands like the broken thing it was. He did it again, and then again.

And again.

Indeed, some feathers hurt when he plucked them away, but he gritted his teeth through the pain and endured it.

When all was said and done, most of the feathers that were on his back were now on the floor, a mix of black and white that littered the bathroom tile, and he stared at his broken wings.

He was mostly flightless now. He supposed he liked it. Still, there was a foul taste at the back of his throat when he saw the rest of the feathers he couldn’t reach stuck in the back of his wings.

-

Kids shed feathers all over the place, and especially when they roughhoused each other. It wasn’t unusual to see a few feathers flying all over the place during recess.

It did matter, though, when the feather was black.

For years, Steve had been careful in keeping his wings strapped tightly to his back and hidden away from curious and prying eyes, but even the most careful consideration could still trip up when a single black feather shed without him noticing.

“Hey freak!” Archie called out.

Steve shouldn’t have turned, but he did because he was an idiot.

He regretted it. In Archie’s hand was a single, raven-black feather. “Is this yours?” he mocked.

Steve looked around. The kids were gawking, as they do, and they were staring at the black feather that Archie held in his hand, holding it proudly in the air like a trophy.

“Is this yours?” Archie repeated. 

Steve gaped, and there was a gnawing at the pit of his stomach. He was so careful. “Give it back,” he said, strangled.

Archie held it out of reach. “Oh, it must be yours,” he sneered knowingly. “No one else here has black wings, and I’ve never seen yours, so this must be yours.”

Steve stumbled forward, his wings flexing in the brace behind him, and Archie took a step back, laughing when Steve’s fist swung and missed. He blew the feather towards him, and the black feather caught in the air, swinging down gently to the ground.

“Freak,” he spat. “Doom, black like a raven and harbinger of death.”

“Harbinger of death, harbinger of death,” the kids chanted. “Black like a raven, harbinger of death.”

Steve looked at Bucky with blind panic. Bucky stood there, stock-still, staring at the black feather with unreadable eyes. Then he looked up and eyes aimed at Steve.

“Don’t listen to them,” Bucky said, coming forward. “They’re just bullies.”

Those words sounded hollow. Steve saw the mask of disgust that flitted across his face. Steve collected the feather and turned away.

-

_ Harbinger of death, harbinger of death _ echoed in his mind. Black like a raven, harbinger of death, the saying went.

“It’s not your fault,” Sarah said gently before she coughed, chest heaving and blood dribbling out her mouth. Steve grabbed the towel off the bedside table and wiped her mouth carefully.

“I know.” Those words sounded flat in his ears.

Because even if it wasn’t his fault, it still felt like was with the fact that his wings symbolized death. And there his ma was, in bed, dying in front of him.

Steve grabbed her palm, heated and sweaty with fever, and she looked at him with her eyes at half-mast, shiny with unshed tears. “Don’t blame yourself for this. This would have happened anyway,” she insisted.

Steve said softly, “Just rest Ma.”

Because he couldn’t tell her that everything was alright, that he’d long plucked out his feathers again and again, the ones that he could reach, when they molted back in. She never knew that his life had been miserable ever since the kids found out how much of a freak he was, and even if Bucky still stuck by his side, there was a cautiousness when Bucky talked to him now.

Steve stroked his ma’s hand, fighting back the tears. He deserved it, he supposed, with the fact that his wings were black, bringing bad omens.

Sarah closed her eyes, breathing in and breathing out, and Steve gripped her hand harder. He bowed his head over her supine form, praying. But he didn’t believe that she would stay because it was a punishment.

“Please, please, _ please,” _ he whispered under his breath.

She breathed her last, and her hand chilled and waxed.

-

“You’re flightless, you can’t join the army,” the recruiter had said.

“But—” Steve tried, and the recruiter shut him off with a look.

“Grounded, illnesses include asthma, nearsightedness,” the recruiter said. “Do you want me to go on? We need healthy men with the ability to fly.”

The “4F” was all but shoved into his face, and Steve clutched onto it before it could fall to the ground. He left to snorts and soft jeers behind him.

He may have been grounded, but he still had two fists, and America needed men. Still, four tries, four “4F’s,” and Steve sighed at his luck.

If he didn’t pluck his feathers all the time, he could have probably flew too. He wasn’t flightless, just...cursed. But with the fact that his wings had been in a back brace for years, the muscles must have atrophied too.

So perhaps he _ was _ flightless.

He regretted it, plucking it.

Because he was jeered for being flightless _ and _ for being cursed, and being jeered for being cursed was even worse than being jeered for being flightless. But at least he would have the opportunity to fight, and to die, for the country.

Doctor Erskine changed the “4F” to “1A.” Steve breathed a sigh of relief because perhaps now he could make a small impact in the war. He may be a foot soldier, but no one was going to miss him.

No one would miss a flightless, cursed, winged human.

-

Steve had to take off his shirt before he entered the chamber. He looked around the room with trepidation. Everyone, from Erskine to Howard, to all the generals sitting in the observation room above them were going to see how pathetic he was. He looked at Peggy; she looked back encouragingly.

He took his shirt off.

“Back brace too,” Doctor Erskine said, looking at the brace that held his wings back.

Steve choked. He had never, _ ever _ taken his back brace off in public because it was better not to show what his wings truly looked like. He took a step back and gulped.

They looked at him expectantly.

He couldn’t...he couldn’t do this.

But then, it was either this or go back home, facing the disgust and jeers of being flightless instead of fighting in the front lines. His fingers curled around the straps and unclasped them, the brace falling to the floor. Steve closed his eyes in shame.

He couldn’t see his wings; he didn’t need to. All ugly and broken and mottled, streaked with black and white from all the harm he did to himself. He bit his lips when he heard a small gasp behind him.

“Let’s do this,” Steve said, voice more steady than he felt. He couldn’t bear the stares anymore. He knew what they all said anyway - it was nothing new. He stepped into the chamber and let pain awash his senses as Operation: Rebirth became a reality.

Steve was bigger, stronger, healthier when the chamber opened, and he opened his eyes, awed by the clarity of everything.

His wings fluttered behind him.

There was a single gunshot, and Steve instinctively lifted his wings up to shield himself from the attack, turning around and stretching his wings to protect as many people as he could.

Then he looked back to see a smoking gun. The man turned and fled, and Steve turned blindly until his eyes settled upon Erskine’s fallen form. With his last breath, he smiled, proud of his final creation.

“I’m going to get him,” Steve promised, standing up. As he did so, feathers fluttered and rippled in the air.

Steve gasped: he had a full set of wings again, the wings that he hated so much, that he bleached and plucked and cried over, the wings that promised death to anyone who encountered them.

First his ma, now the good Doctor who saved his life.

Steve never hated his wings more.

-

Steve deliberately stayed flightless, shoving his wings back into the confines of a new back brace. He couldn’t deal with the guilt of anyone seeing his wings and dying because of them.

Peggy argued, “They’re just a tool, Steve. An extra appendage. You shouldn’t believe in superstition.”

Steve looked at her, then looked down at the sketch he made. A reaper, complete with a hooded cape and a scythe, black wings outstretched and foreboding. He was that reaper. “Sure Peggy,” he said hollowly.

But at least with the supersoldier serum running through his veins, running essentially felt like flying. He didn’t need his wings to keep up with his Howling Commandos and to save his people.

He could be flightless, and he could be a hero. No one had to know that his wings were cursed.

Perhaps, however, had he made full use of his wings, he could have saved Bucky from falling to his death. Because during the time Bucky was captured, they tore his wings so that they were unusable, his formerly beautiful wings missing patches of feathers and rendering him flightless. It didn’t stop Bucky from running with Steve.

And now he was dead because of Steve.

His ma, Doctor Erskine, Bucky. How many more people were going to die because of his curse?

Getting onto the plane was easy. Saving the lives of the American people were easy.

And perhaps dying was easy too.

~-~

Steve breathed and woke up.

He was stunned at the fact that he was still alive. He never expected that.

“Captain,” Fury greeted him, his wings primed behind him. It was if the Director was always alert, on guard, ready to fly and fight at a moment’s notice. Steve noted that his wings looked black, but they weren’t as dark as his: there was a tinge of dark purple that stained his otherwise black wings. “I’m Fury, director of SHIELD. Welcome to the twenty-first century.”

“Where am I?” Steve asked. His voice was hoarse. Made sense; after all, he hadn’t used his vocal cords in over seventy years. (He was supposed to be dead.)

“SHIELD’s medical bay.” Fury stepped in front of him, hands behind his back, standing straight and confidently, looking like the director he was. “Some fishermen found you in the ice, and we brought you here so you could recover.”

Steve got out of his bed and looked at the bustling city below him. He could feel his back twinge as he moved. “You should have left me in the ice, if you knew what was good for you.”

Fury ignored his words. “We’ll get you acclimated to the new century, get you settled in.”

“What’s the catch?” Steve asked dully.

“We’re coming up into an era where heroes are needed. I’m putting together a team of extraordinary people…”

“Save the speech Fury.” Steve turned around, and as he did so, he caught a glimpse of his wings. The wings that should have been hidden away and stuffed out of sight and out of mind. “I don’t want to be a part of it. I did my duty.”

“You’re a soldier through and through,” Fury replied plainly. “You’d be bored with civilian life.”

“I don’t care. You should have left me to die.” Steve looked down at his freed wings. “And you took away my brace.”

“It shattered when we thawed you. We’ll get you a new one, although I don’t understand why you’d put away a set of perfectly good wings.”

Steve stepped back and curled his wings tightly to himself, avoiding the curious look that Fury gave him. “Just get me a back brace, please Fury.” He hated that his voice sounded so fragile.

“As you wish.”

It took Fury less than thirty seconds to acquire the back brace that Steve requested. Once the familiar clinging pressed against his wings, Steve finally settled.

“I’m not going to fight anymore,” Steve said tiredly, sitting down on the edge of his bed. “I just want to be a civilian.”

“Okay,” Fury conceded and nodded decisively. “You’ll have your wish. We’ll get you settled into civilian life.”

It was a victory, but Steve felt like Fury won anyway.

-

Fury was right: civilian life bored him, but Steve was determined not to call the number on his phone and ask to be signed back onto active duty.

He could do this, acclimate to a new life, wrangle and understand the new technology that had evolved while he was dead, and learn everything new that had happened during the past seventy years.

With all this downtime, he could draw, and he drew anything that caught his eye. Sometimes it was the cat that judged him from the balcony, sometimes it was the Stark Tower in the distance as he sat in the cafe. 

But more often than not, he drew the wings of people that passed him. He sighed, closing his eyes.

Everything was in technicolor and overwhelming. The one thing that didn’t change was that there were still more flighted people than grounded ones, and there was not one person that had wings that were as dark as his.

He felt out of place, out of time, and he, after all this time, still really hated his wings.

Steve bought a bottle of bleach from the pharmacy. Two bottles (perhaps a third, if he was truly honest with himself), taking them home in the reusable bag that the cashier had somehow sold to him after she mentioned “saving the environment!”

He stared at himself in the bathroom mirror. The lights illuminated his tired and old eyes, perfect jawline, his healthy pallor. They also illuminated the full set of raven-black wings behind him.

The smell of bleach were more potent than ever when he uncapped the lid, his sense of smell more powerful than before. Steve wrinkled his nose at the smell, but he endured it, stepping into the shower.

He stretched out his wings like before, and he poured bleach down the muscle, letting the feathers soak up the liquid. He used up all three bottles of bleach - he wanted to do a thorough job this time.

His wings were white, finally, and Steve gave a tired grin when he saw them. Maybe, it’ll all be okay.

But as soon as his grin appeared, it disappeared as the supersoldier serum kicked in and shedded the bleach from the feathers, as if his body knew that he was ill. The feathers molted and fell to the floor of his bathtub; in their place were a new set of blackened wings.

Steve gathered up the bleached feathers, and the tears leaked out of the corners of his eyes.

-

“We need you,” Fury said.

Steve punched through the punching bag with more force, shattering the chains that held it and sending it flying. “I told you I don’t want to be a part of it.”

“It’s more than that, Captain. The Tesseract has gone awry.”

“What?” Steve sharply asked, whirling around.

“I said—” Fury started, but Steve interrupted him, “—I know what you said. But why? I died because of the Tesseract. You should have left it in the ice where it belonged.” _ Like me, _ he didn’t say.

“It’s causing trouble, and we need you to help us,” Fury said.

Steve heaved.

“Fine,” Steve finally said.

-

Iron Man was beautiful.

That was an understatement, but that was the best word Steve could come up with in his dumbstruck mind. The red and gold wings shone and glittered as he moved, flying with grace and speed. The occasions that the feathers caught the light, it cast a beautiful glow onto the ground.

Steve was smitten, watching those wings extend and retract in perfection as Iron Man fought.

Indeed, those wings were different than normal wings, Steve realized when Iron Man touched down. The feathers weren’t down and soft; they were hard and sharp, as they were created from metal.

(And the way that the feather glinted unnatural under light, Steve understood that they _ were _ made from metal. It didn’t stop him from loving the absolute artistry of those wings.)

Tony Stark, Iron Man, was perfect, and it left Steve flatfooted and breathless watching him fly and fight, while he himself scaled up buildings with a superhuman speed and fought beside his new teammates.

He, dare he say, _ loved _ him.

But as Steve watched Tony from afar, playing the media like the true natural he was, he realized that they were leagues apart.

“I’m not good enough for you,” Steve whispered, feeling his back twinge with agony at the prospect.

Tony turned to look at him. “Did you say something Cap?” His golden-brown eyes were curious and stunning, and Steve’s breath caught for a second.

He finally shook his head. “Nothing, carry on, Mr. Stark.”

“Tony," Tony said. “I think, after all that we’ve fought together, we should be on a first name basis.”

“Tony,” Steve acknowledged. “Steve.”

Tony’s smile was brilliant. “Looking forward to seeing you more often, Steve.” The way Tony said “Steve” was sultry, and his eyes darkened. They stared at each other for a long moment, just a beat longer than appropriate.

Steve was helpless, especially after the way Tony’s tongue darted between his lips. Steve thought he might be drooling. Then Tony winked.

Steve gaped after him as he turned around, wings clinking softly as moved and entered his car, Bruce following him.

-

The invite to stay at the Tower came in an engraved red-and-gold envelope two weeks later.

Steve looked at it, perplexed and cautious at first, when he saw the letter sitting innocently on the kitchen table. After determining that it wasn’t dangerous and it wouldn’t explode in his face, he opened it with glee.

He _ wanted _ to live there so badly. If he did so, he would have more opportunities to see Tony than all the official meetings that the Avengers had to attend. 

He wanted to.

It was too easy for him to pack the small amount of stuff he owned and left the SHIELD safehouse.

As he left his apartment for the last time, his most precious possessions in his backpack, Clint and Natasha was standing there and waiting impatiently for him.

“Hey guys,” Steve said, switching his gaze between the both of them.

“Did you get Tony’s invite to the Tower?” Clint asked, bouncing on his toes.

Natasha smacked him, drawing a yelp from Clint’s lip. Steve laughed when Clint reached up to rub the back of his head. “Of course he did. Look at him, he has a backpack of his stuff.”

“So that means you’re going to stay with the rest of us in the Tower?” Clint was already bounding down the corridor. 

“Uhh, yeah,” Steve said out loud, even though by the looks on their faces, they already knew his answer anyway.

Clint cheered. “Avengers sleepover party!”

Natasha rolled her eyes and reached over to tug his wing muscle playfully. Clint toppled over dramatically, flopping onto Steve’s chest. “Save me!” he cried. Steve stood there, frozen, as Clint buried his face in his chest.

“You’re making Cap uncomfortable,” Nat said, dragging Clint back and trapping him to do a noogie.

The bubble of laughter burst through, and Steve laughed and laughed and laughed, eyes crinkling at their antics. He enjoyed their easy banter and admired the way Clint’s purple wings tangled with Natasha’s blood-red ones like children.

He wished he could do the same, let his wings flow freely and tangle them among those he cared about. 

His back twitched in sympathy.

-

As much as Steve hoped he would see Tony more often now that he moved into the Tower, in reality, Tony was so busy with Stark Industries that it was rare that he would come down and make an appearance.

However, during the rare events that he did appear, Tony would automatically seek out Steve, looking around the room until his eyes fell upon Steve’s own eyes looking back at him. And then Tony would give him a soft grin, a genuine one, not the dazzling media one, and Steve’s chest would expand, his face would heat, and he would look down shyly because those eyes were mesmerizing and shining.

“Good evening, team!” Tony greeted the rest of the room.

“Joining us for dinner?” Bruce asked from the kitchen, where the smell of indian food wafted through the open doorway.

Tony called back, “Yes, I am!” He then turned back to Steve. “What are you doing?”

“We are playing cars that would crash into each other!” Thor boomed while his eyes were focused on the screen in front of them.

“Mario Kart, Thor, it’s Mario Kart,” Clint said, tilting his console, and his entire body, over, so that he was nearly learning on Steve’s lap.

Tony snorted. “Who’s winning?”

“Natasha,” Steve said, looking over at her, where she sat by herself on the bean bag.

“As you were,” Tony laughed, turning away to join Bruce in the kitchen. Steve liked that laugh; it was a beautiful laugh, and it warmed him to the core. He stared at Tony’s wings (not his ass, not his ass) as he left, and when he finally turned back to face the screen, Clint, Natasha, and Thor shared looks with each other before they turned to him and grinned.

It looked ominous. “What?” Steve said defensively.

“It is nothing, my friend!” Thor said, clapping him so hard on the back that he toppled over onto the floor. 

Steve glared, and Clint laughed before he said, “First place Thor, I’m gonna get first place!”

Thor growled. “You will do no such thing!”

“On the contrary, I believe first place is mine,” Natasha said just as her character reached the finish line.

Clint and Thor groaned.

“You never answered my question, guys,” Steve groaned, sitting up. “Why were you looking at me that way?”

“Tony.” The expression on Natasha’s face looked so intense that it took all of Steve’s willpower not to wince under her gaze.

“What about him?” he said weakly.

“You like him,” Clint said.

He did, he couldn’t deny it. But he also knew that they could never happen because Tony was brilliant, and kind, and amazing, larger than life and perfect and beautiful.

Steve was Steve: a broken, cursed murderer.

And if he tried to start a relationship, it was guaranteed that he would essentially send Tony to his grave.

So he argued, “No, I don’t,” tearing his heart to pieces and denying it. Because he couldn’t have Tony.

They looked at him again, but before they could say anything else, Tony walked into the room again. Steve was relieved.

“You finished your game?” Tony asked, glancing at the screen. Bowser was dancing on the first place podium. “Oh good. Dinner’s ready.”

“Talk to him,” Natasha said gently as they got up. 

Steve shook his head. “I—” _ I’m not good enough for him. _

She pinned him with a look. “Talk. To. Him,” she said again, stressing every word.

Steve bit his lip. He wasn’t going to, no matter how threatening Nat looked.

-

Thing was, Steve didn’t deserve to be loved. That held him back, and not even Natasha’s threatening looks could ever make him make that first move. 

Here at the Tower, the floor length mirrors showed all the flaws that were his wings. They were pitch black, as dark as the night, and it was masochistic that Steve continuously stared at them with hatred in his eyes.

They were ugly, not like the colorful wings that his team had. Plucking his wings this time around were a futile effort; every feather he plucked were replaced by a new one, and while they were stronger than his wings before the serum, it was also more painful to pluck them.

Still, he couldn’t stop absentmindedly pluck the covet feathers like a scab. It was just...he needed some pain to alleviate the guilt.

When he couldn’t bear to see his wings anymore, he put them back into his back brace, hiding them from view, from himself and the world.

He was bad luck, and if he could stop anyone from seeing his wings so that he could save them and keep them alive, he would. 

Clint was in the kitchen when he arrived, and the smell of heavenly cookies wafted in the air. Steve inhaled, closing his eyes in pleasure, and moaned softly. Clint heard him and turned.

“Hey Cap.”

“Clint,” he said, opening his eyes. He grinned. “They smell so delicious.”

“You can have one,” he graciously offered, grinning back as he took out the cookies out from the oven and moved them to a cooling rack, where there were at least four dozen other cookies sitting out to cool.

“Just one?” Steve asked, snagging his cookie.

Clint nodded. _ “One,” _ he said gravely, but his eyes twinkled with mirth.

When Clint’s back was turned, Steve snatched a handful of cookies from the cooling rack before squirreling out of the kitchen.

Steve couldn’t stop grinning when Clint’s outraged yell travelled after him, and he raced down the corridor. He didn’t know what possessed him to get onto the elevator, but as soon as he realized that he was already in the elevator, he realized he didn’t want to get off either.

“Captain, what is your destination?” JARVIS asked.

Steve thought for a moment. “Is Tony in his workshop?” 

“He is, sir. Would you like me to take you down?”

To be honest, he really shouldn’t. Steve should say no, get off the elevator, hide in his room, because he...he was bad omen. He shouldn’t be feeding his desire of Tony because he knew that if he got too close, people around him would burn.

Steve wished it was an accident when he said, “Yes, JARVIS. Take me down, please.”

He clutched the cookies in his hands, almost crumbling them when he momentarily got lost in his thoughts and gripped them a little too hard. Then he nearly dropped them in his haste to unclench his fingers.

The elevator doors opened, and “Back in Black” greeted him as he walked through the doors. Tony was...messy with grease, his hair was matted, and his goggles on his face were askew. Tony’s wings hung limply on his back as he sawed something, sending sparks flying everywhere.

Steve thought he was beautiful.

As if sensing his presence, Tony looked up from his work and gave him a beatific smile. Steve watched as Tony’s mouth moved. Tony beckoned him in, and Steve walked through the doors.

“Steve!” Tony greeted happily. His eyes had a slightly manic look, as if he hadn’t slept in days. “It’s good to see you!”

“Hi Tony,” Steve said. He was sure he had a silly smile on his face. He was so very fucked, he couldn’t deny it. He needed to stay away from Tony, but he couldn’t help but reach out. “I brought cookies.”

Tony approached Steve. “Cookies for me?”

Steve nodded helplessly. Tony grinned. “Thanks Steve.”

The touch to his fingers when Tony grabbed the cookies were like an electric shock that rippled down his spine, and his wings ached. He wanted to preen and peacock because Tony...Tony was scintillating and exquisite. Steve’s breath caught in his throat.

“Hey, while you’re here, perhaps you can help me with something,” Tony said as he munched around a mouthful of cookie.

“Anything,” Steve replied.

“Great!” Tony walked back to his work table and picked up something. When he turned around, Steve realized that what Tony was holding were his metal feathers. 

“Some of my feathers fell out during our last fight, and I can’t put them back myself. I don’t trust DUM-E to put these feathers in place, so if you can do it—”

“I’d love to,” Steve interrupted desperately. He, for the longest time, wanted to touch those feathers. He’d admired them from afar, drew Tony’s wings obsessively into his sketchbook, but he never got the chance to look at them up close. And he wanted to, so badly.

“Here,” Tony said, placing the metal feathers into Steve’s palms. They were much lighter than Steve expected, and they glistened in his palm as they caught the lights of Tony’s workshop.

Tony turned around and pointed behind him. “Do you see the missing feathers back there?” he asked.

Indeed, there were some empty patches where feathers were missing, and Steve nodded before he realized that Tony couldn’t see it. “Yes.”

“Good, because I can’t, but my flying has been shit, so that’s how I know that I have missing feathers. And I can’t reach that, so you’ll have to tuck them under the muscle.”

“How would they stick?” Steve asked, as he followed Tony’s instructions and tucked them under the muscle.

“Electromagnets,” Tony replied. “They’re usually pretty durable, but it’s not easy trying to find something that is fight-durable.”

“Oh,” Steve admired. “Can...can I touch them?”

“You’re touching them right now,” Tony remarked dryly.

Steve blushed. “I meant…”

The feathers rippled as Tony laughed. “I know what you meant, Steve, I was ribbing you. You can touch them.”

The feathers were not silky soft like regular feathers, but Tony’s metal feathers were so...Tony, and they were so very special and unique. As Steve traced his fingers down them, the feather clinked softly together like wind chimes.

“Wow,” Steve breathed.

Tony turned around slightly. “Do you like them?”

Steve shook his head, looking up at the soft eyes. “I _ love _them.”

Tony grabbed Steve by the arms and lifted him. Steve went willingly enough, keeping eye contact the entire way.

There was a press of lips against his. Steve gasped, but Tony took that as an invitation to lick into his mouth, pressing forward so that Steve lost control of his reality. There were sparks behind his eyes as Tony ravaged his mouth.

He...Steve loved it, and he wanted to sob because he loved it so much. And it was so hard that he couldn’t have this, that he couldn’t keep Tony for himself because he wasn’t good enough.

Heat began to prickle in his eyes, and it wasn’t because that Tony was kissing him so thoroughly. He didn’t deserve this at all.

It took so much will to pull away, and Steve wanted to cry when he said, “I can’t do this. I’m sorry Tony.”

He fled.

-

Steve didn’t know what he should be guilty more for: hurting Tony after reciprocating his kiss, or being selfish for reciprocating that kiss. If he was entirely honest with himself, it was both.

He was avoiding Tony because he was sure the next time he saw him, he wouldn’t be able to jump at his bones, and he couldn’t have him. There was an aching in his heart. He wanted Tony so badly, but he couldn’t do that to Tony, no matter how much he loved him. Keeping Tony alive was more important than his happiness. 

During a quiet evening where the rest of the team were conspicuously absent, Steve absentmindedly picked at his covet feathers as he sat quietly in the couch of the communal living room, drawing Tony flying, his wings outstretched like he owned the world.

Natasha and Clint were off doing a SHIELD mission, Bruce was in his lab, and Thor was back at Asgard. Tony was thankfully in the middle of meetings, last Steve checked.

He just needed to avoid him.

It was easy to fall into an easy focus where all paid attention to was his sketchbook in front of him; everything else around him died away. Still, he was a supersoldier, so he didn’t know how he missed a second presence in the living room until there was a black feather that appeared into his vision. Steve looked at it in dread: that was his feather.

He never shown his teammates his wings, hiding them desperately even though they had known each other for months now and had fallen into an easy camaraderie. He was just too ashamed of his wings.

“This is yours, isn’t it,” Tony said softly. “No one else has black feathers.”

Tears prickled in his eyes until his vision of the feather became blurry. Now Tony knew how much of a freak he truly was. He nodded tersely, keeping his eyes down at his sketchbook.

Tears dripped down, marring the drawing of Tony.

“Hey.” Tony crouched down until Steve was forced to look at him in the eye. “Is that why you’ve been hiding them?”

“Black wings,” Steve whispered. “Bad omen.”

Now that Tony knew, the rest of the team will know, and Steve would be kicked off the team. No one wanted a member who was death incarnate.

Tony pressed a hand upon Steve’s thigh. “You know black wings aren’t anything to be ashamed of.”

Steve bit his lip. They were everything to be ashamed of.

“How long have you been hiding them?”

“Since I was ten. Had to take of my brace when I underwent Operation: Rebirth.”

Tony inhaled sharply, and Steve looked up in shock. “You’ve put them in a brace since you were ten?” he asked, lowly, dangerously.

Steve nodded hesitantly.

“So you’ve never flown on your wings before.”

“It was bad luck,” Steve whispered. “Didn’t want anyone to see what a freak I am.”

“You’re not a freak,” Tony burst out. He sat beside Steve. He repeated, “You’re not a freak. You’re Steve Rogers, Captain America, amazing soldier, strong, and beautiful.”

_ Ugly, _ Steve thought, looking down again. Tony turned his head with a press to his cheek so that Steve had to look at the beautiful man in front of him.

Tony’s eyes were stormy. “You’re not ugly,” he said with conviction as if he heard Steve’s word. “Black wings mean nothing to me. Bad omens be damned.”

Tony brought the single feather to the light. “Your feather reminds me of a raven’s. And besides death, do you know what a raven also symbolize? Creation and knowledge.”

“And they bring light.” Tony’s look was intense when he stared at Steve, bringing the feather to his lips and then placing it in Steve’s hand. He closed Steve’s palm and held it gently between his own palms. “You’re not ugly, Steve. Your wings aren’t ugly at all. If that feather tells me anything, your wings are beautiful.”

“Is that why you’re hiding from me?” Tony asked. “Because you thought you couldn’t be loved because of a superstition?”

Steve nodded. He was terrified. Everything, all of his worst fears for years, were laid out on his table, and Tony ripped them apart like they were nothing.

“I hate superstitions, and I don’t believe in omens,” Tony said. “The others would say the same.”

Steve couldn’t breathe. There was this amazing man in front of him who shredded everything he believed in himself for nearly a century and...loved him for what he was.

“We’re all broken, Steve,” Tony said softly. “They called me the ‘Merchant of Death,’ for God’s sake.”

“But I killed ma and Bucky,” Steve said. “I...I can’t lose you too.”

Tony gave him a look. “You can’t be so naive to believe that you killed them because of your wings, are you?”

Then Tony began to shed his shirt. The transition was so abrupt that it left Steve speechless.

“What—” Steve began to say when he found his voice again, but Tony cut him off with a “Be quiet for a second.”

As Tony unbuttoned his shirt, the arc reactor emanated from his chest, glowing a soft blue. Steve had never noticed it before because Tony had covered it whenever he hung out. But now, Steve was looking at it, mesmerized by its pulsating and soft blue light. And then Tony took off his shirt and turned around.

Steve stared.

Tony’s back were marred with old scars, indented slightly from the healing process. But where Steve expected wing muscles protruding out from his back, or at least a scar of it, there was nothing.

“What,” Steve began to ask hoarsely, but words failed him as he continued to stare at Tony’s back.

Tony picked up his metal wings from the floor, held together by a brace. “I’m wingless, Steve,” Tony said plainly. “Why do you think I had metal wings?”

“I thought you lost your wings in Afghanistan. I read your file,” Steve said. “I never thought to question it.”

Tony shook his head. 

“You know,” he said, “Dad always told me that Captain America had the most beautiful wings that he’d ever seen, so strong, beautiful, and gorgeous, protecting those in need.”

Howard was probably talking about the only time when he showed his wings to the world, and his eyes burned again. “They—”

Tony put his finger to his lips. “If you’re going to say bad things about your wings again, I don’t want to hear it. You’re not ugly, you’re not a killer. You’re a protector, and you deserve to use your wings.”

Tony strapped his wings to his back again. “Do you trust me?”

Steve didn’t have to even think about it to answer that question. “Yes.”

“So do you trust me to tell you that your wings are beautiful?” Tony’s were dark, but they held Steve steady, grounding him.

“Tell me again, and I may believe you.”

Tony grabbed Steve’s hand and pulled him to the elevator. “I’ll tell you as many times as it takes for you to believe it yourself. JARVIS, to the balcony, please.”

“Where are you taking me?”

Tony’s smile warmed him to the core. “I’m going to teach you how to fly.”

-

Steve looked at the open sky in trepidation. “I’m scared,” he admitted, look over the edge of the balcony.

Tony stood next to him, and that pressure by his side eased some of that fear, but still. Flying with his own wings. He hadn’t even taken his back brace off yet.

“You trust me,” Tony said simply. It wasn’t a question, just a statement of fact, and Steve couldn’t deny those words at all.

Steve nodded. “I’m scared I’m going to fail and fall.”

“You won’t,” Tony promised. “I’ll be there to catch you. Every time you fall, I’ll be there.”

Steve bit his lip, and Tony touched his face so that Steve was looking at him. Tony’s eyes were unwavering and confident, believing in him when he didn’t believe in himself. “I’ll be with you, holding your hand. You won’t fall.”

“Okay,” Steve whispered.

“Face me?” Tony asked softly, and then he helped Steve take off his shirt so that all that Steve had left between him and the world was his back brace. “Do you want to take it off yourself, or do you want me to do it?”

Steve breathed and leaned forward. Tony pressed his forehead against his in comfort. “Can you do it?” Steve asked.

“I’d love to.” Tony grasped the clasp in his hands. “Are you ready?”

The sheer simplicity of the question was so complicated that Steve burst out laughing. Because if he didn’t laugh, he would break down and lose all the confidence that Tony had just built within him. “No, I’m not.” Steve closed his eyes.

He was shaking, Steve realized, as they stood out there on the balcony with him about to show his wings to the world for the first time in seventy years. “I’m so scared,” he said in a small voice.

Tony grabbed him and kissed him passionately, and all Steve could inhale is Tony. _ Tony, Tony, Tony, _ he chanted in his head. The man who broke all of his barriers. This kiss was better than their first one, all promise and passion and love, and Steve was dying for this. “It’s okay to be scared,” Tony said. “Being scared is healthy. But being scared and not doing anything is bad.”

“Yeah,” Steve breathed.

“Hey, it’s just you and me. No one else is watching.” Tony pecked him on the lips again, a quick one, but one filled with the unwavering passion Tony had for Steve. “I’m going to take your brace off.”

“Okay.” Steve closed his eyes as Tony unclasped the brace with a _ snik _.

The wind battered against his naked back, rippling through his wings. He shuddered hard.

“Open your eyes Steve,” Tony said. Tony carded his fingers through Steve’s hair, and it was a comforting feeling.

Steve obeyed, staring into Tony’s eyes. He could get lost in those eyes, the ones that shone with love for him. “Do you want me to tell you the truth about your wings? Do you trust me?”

“You know I do,” Steve said, “trust you, that is.”

“And you can sure believe that I’m going to tell you that your wings are the most beautiful things I have ever seen,” Tony said. “And I’m going to tell you that as many times as you need to hear it to believe it.”

“Please,” Steve begged. Tony leaned up, and Steve leaned down, willingly giving himself Tony to take care of.

Because Tony was the most amazing being he’d ever met. It didn’t matter that he was wingless; Tony made himself wings and became a flier, fighting everything that told him otherwise that he was grounded. And if Tony could do that, maybe Steve could fight for himself and tell himself that he wasn’t the harbinger of death.

“I’ll be with you all the way,” Tony promised, pulling back. His lips were red and swollen from their kisses (every single one of them continued to bring Steve to his knees), and Steve was sure that he didn’t look much better. “Ready?”

Steve nodded once. Tony took him by both hands, walking backwards until they were at the cusp of falling.

“Stretch your wings out, there we go,” Tony encouraged. “You want to capture the wind so that you can be aerodynamic.”

Steve nodded tightly, trying to force his wings into place. Tony cupped his cheek. “Relax. It’ll come naturally.”

“It doesn’t feel natural,” Steve said.

“Here.” Tony reached past his body and took hold of his wing muscles with both hands, stroking them softly. The heat that emanated from Tony’s hand to the muscles were overwhelming, and Steve shuddered hard, letting out a soft moan when Tony continued to stoke his wings. He hardened in his pants. “There we go, relaxed.”

When Steve looked into Tony’s eyes, he saw that they were blown with lust, and he was just as hard. Tony looked down at his hard-on with an interested look. “We’ll take care of that later. Flying first.”

And then he leaned forward again to say lowly in his ear, “And when we’re done with this lesson, I’m going to take care of that, as many times as you can take it, reward you for taking this first step.”

Steve whined and shuddered, knees almost buckling under him. Tony grabbed his hand again. “Relax,” he said again. “I’ll catch you.”

And then Tony stepped off the ledge, pulling Steve with him.

Steve felt like he left his stomach back on the ledge. His heart was pounding hard, feeling as it was beating out of his chest, and he instinctively retracted his wings closer to himself. _ I’m going to fall, I’m going to die, _he thought to himself.

But he wasn’t falling; he was in the air, and Tony was holding him. “Stretch your wings out honey. I’m not going to let you fall.”

Tentatively, Steve stretched his wings out again, the way that Tony had taught him earlier. “Good, baby. You’re doing so well. Now can you flap your wings for me?”

Steve gripped onto Tony tighter. He was hyperventilating. “You’re doing so good,” Tony encouraged again. “I’ve got you, honeybunches. But can you do one baby flap for me?”

After a moment, Steve tried flapping his wings once. It was a miniscule one, one that barely did anything while Tony’s own mechanical wings were flapping harder than normal to accommodate the weight of two people. But Tony wasn’t complaining, only gave him constant praise and encouragement, “That was a good first try, but flap a little harder so that you can get wind under your wings and fly.”

Steve let out a dry sob, but he did as Tony asked, flapped his wings more powerfully. His wings were aching because he never done this before, but to hear Tony’s litany of praises in his ears, giving him constant encouragement, made Steve want to try harder. He flapped again, and this time, enough wind caught under his wings and lifted them into the sky.

“Oh my God, you did it!” Tony praised. “Can you open your eyes for me baby?”

Steve shook his head. “I’m...I’m scared.”

“I know you’re scared, but the view is worth it,” Tony said in his ear.

Steve tentatively opened his eyes to peek, and then his eyes widened in shock. “Woah,” he said in awe.

The city lights glistened down below, sparkling prettily, and the stars above greeted him too. “I love this,” he breathed. 

“It’s amazing,” Tony agreed, pecking him on the check. “You ready to soar now? It’s easier than keeping us up.”

Steve ducked his head in embarrassment. “Sorry,” he muttered.

“You don’t need to be sorry about it, sweetcheeks,” Tony retorted. “This wings can take a lot. It’s just that your wings must be aching, so soaring is easier than keeping yourself afloat.”

“Okay.”

“Relax your wings Steve, and let me do all the work, okay baby?” Tony said. 

Steve nodded, and he relaxed his wing muscles. Tony pressed his entire length against Steve’s, and then he fell back again, taking Steve with him.

“Oh my God!” Steve exclaimed as they soared over buildings and under the Brooklyn Bridge and skimmed over water. He was breathless and happy; the feeling of flying with his wings behind him carrying him to do all of this. Steve laughed.

Tony laughed with him. “Amazing, wasn’t it?”

Steve looked at him. “More than amazing,” he asserted. Adrenaline raced through his body as they landed back on the balcony, and he stared at Tony with love in his eyes. He...he had no words for him. It was more than love - it was devotion, an implicit trust, everything, literally everything. He wanted Tony so much that the feeling overwhelmed him.

They reached for each other and clung together, kissing desperately. With every touch that Tony imparted on his skin, Steve felt like there was a fire burning within his veins. He whined, parting his lips so that Tony attacked his mouth, craving every bit of him like a dying man.

“You’re so gorgeous, baby,” Tony said into his mouth, “So perfect, I don’t know what to do with myself.”

“Fu-fuck me,” Steve moaned back, clutching onto Tony’s arms desperately. Because if he didn’t do so, he would have fallen to his knees in a prayer to him.

“Fuck yes,” Tony groaned, dragging him across the balcony but never letting him go. He held him by the nape of his neck, and Steve never felt so owned before. “I’m never going to let you go, now that I know that you’re so amazing.”

“Please, _ please, please,” _ Steve returned desperately, bucking into Tony’s grip. Tony looked at him, eyes darkened with lust and heat.

“What do you want?” Tony asked, pushing him up against the wall and crowding into his space until there was no room between them. “Do you want me to hold you down and use you and—”

“Everything, Tony,” Steve said, crying out loud when Tony sucked a bruise into his neck. His breath hitched, and he said again, “I want everything you give to me. All of it.”

Tony’s thigh was pressed against his cock, and Steve thrusted forward blindly, moaning wantonly. “Come on baby,” Tony encouraged. “I want to wreck you tonight. Yeah, that’s right, rub yourself off on my leg.”

Steve moaned, making small aborted thrusts as he rubbed his cock against Tony’s leg. _ “Tony, Tony, Tony,” _ Steve repeated, the wave of his pleasure arching higher and higher.

“Yeah, baby,” Tony groaned back, pressing into his cock even harder, and Steve threw his head back and and mewled. “Come on. Come for me.”

With that voice, he was helpless to obey, and he came in his pants, shuddering through his orgasm.

“Fuck that’s hot,” Tony growled in his ear, and Steve whined, blindly pressing his cheek against Tony. “You’re so fucking hot. Gonna see how many times you can come for me tonight because you were so amazing. Open your eyes for me, wanna see how blissed out you are.”

Steve opened his eyes, staring at the man in front of him. Tony licked his lips, and his eyes followed the movement. “Man, you’re so gorgeous. That’s a good look on you.” Tony grabbed him again and took him down the corridor, opening the door.

“My room,” Tony said, guiding Steve to his bed. He gently pushed him down until Steve was laying freely on top of the bed covers. “I can’t wait to ravish you here. You’re so gorgeous baby. You’re always gorgeous, but you look especially gorgeous now. Your wings even, spread so gorgeously.”

Steve whined at the mentioned at his wings, and he unconsciously tucked them back under him, hiding his face in his hands, but Tony crawled over him and commanded, “Stop.”

Steve stilled. “Don’t hide your wings from me. Don’t ever do that.” Tony stroked Steve’s wings, and Steve shuddered, eyes rolling back in his head. He was hard, impossibly hard, so soon after already coming once. Tony just had that effect on him. “That’s why I don’t want you to hide your wings, because you’re so sensitive, and you’re so beautiful. When you’re alone with me, you don’t ever have to hide who you truly are.”

“Tony,” Steve gasped, reaching up for him. Tears dripped out of his eyes because he never had been so loved before. Tony grasped his outreach palm and tangled their fingers together. He kissed the back of his hand and nuzzled it. _ “Ah! _Tony, please, please, please, fuck me, please.”

“With pleasure, sweetheart,” Tony said, leaning over him again to kiss him sweetly. Steve moaned softly at the feeling of the press of his lips. “It would be an honor to do so.”

Tony slithered down, unbuttoning Steve’s pants and taking his pants and his underwear off in one smooth motion. Steve canted his hips up to make the slide easier. With his cock freed, it slapped up against belly, dripping copious pre-come. It was so hard and red, and Tony leaned down to press a kiss upon the underside of his cock. Steve whined, bucking his hips slightly when Tony licked a heated stripe from his balls to the tip, licking up the precome that had dribbled onto his stomach.

“Fuck, you’re so delicious sweetheart,” Tony praised. “I’ll never be able to get enough of you now that I’ve tasted you.”

“Tony, Tony, Tony,” Steve babbled back, gasping and heaving while Tony lifted his thighs and raised them over his own spread ones. Steve felt opened and exposed, completely vulnerable as Tony looked down at him with love in his eyes. Steve felt his cheeks heat from being so open.

“You’re gorgeous,” Tony said again, stroking the sides of his body. “Your wings, you cock, your eyes, your voice. There’s no way I’m letting you go now.” 

Steve sobbed dryly. The sheer emotional rawness was too much, and he choked back a second sob. He saw Tony reaching over to spread something on his fingers, just before he pressed a digit against his asshole. It was too much, and emotions bubbled in his chest. Steve gasped wetly. “Don’t hold back, baby,” Tony said softly, slowly pushing in. “You can cry. I know it’s a lot to take it.”

With his permission, it felt like a wave of emotion crashed over him, and Steve couldn’t hold back anymore. Tears dripped out of his eyes, and he wailed, letting Tony fuck him with finger. It was hard to breathe with the ache in his heart soothed by Tony’s litany of praises, fucking him with one finger.

“Give me another one,” Steve sobbed, “I need it, please.”

“Okay, sweetheart,” Tony said, and there was a deeper pressure in his ass where Tony was fucking him with two fingers, and Steve moaned through his tears. He felt full as Tony stretched his ass, and his entire being felt raw as his tears continued to leak out of his eyes.

“Does it hurt?” Tony asked, continuing to stretch him.

Steve shook his head. “It feels so good. Not enough. I need your cock in me, please.”

“My cock is bigger than my fingers,” Tony said worriedly. “I may hurt you.”

“I—” Steve hiccuped, “I need it, Tony. Please give your cock to me.”

“Okay baby.” Tony slowly took his fingers out of his ass, and Steve felt so empty. “Do you want to turn over? It’ll be easier on you.”

“No,” Steve said through his tears, “I want to see you. I need to see you.”

Tony nodded in acknowledgement. “Then I’m going to put a pillow under you, make it easier for you. I’ll be right here, not going to leave the room, okay?”

“Okay,” Steve said softly, voice hitching, watching through his tears as Tony moved away for a moment. With his touches gone, he was bereft, and fresh tears began to leak out of his eyes again. 

He was alone, all alone, no one wanted him—

And then Tony was right there, touching him again, inserting a pillow under his ass. “Crying again?” Tony asked, hovering over him, brushing his face through his tears.

Steve babbled, voice hoarse and broken, “Tony.” It was a benediction, and Steve was sobbing for the man who fixed him.

“Let it all out, baby,” Tony said lovingly. “It’s okay, cry as much as you want. It’s overwhelming, I’m sure.”

And then there was a blunt pressure pressing against his asshole, and he let a long wail as the pressure became unbearable and his ass opened to let Tony in.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Let me in,” Tony crooned. “Look at me.”

Through his tears, Steve looked at Tony, gasping and moaning, seeing the all encompassing love for him. Tony smiled at him, and he reached for Steve’s wings, stroking it lovingly with gentle hands. 

Steve couldn’t get enough breath into his lungs as he maintained eye contact with Tony, moaning and breath hitching, gasping weakly. “Please, please, _ pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease,” _ he begged, although he didn’t know what he was begging for.

But Tony knew, even if Steve didn’t know himself. “Relax,” he instructed as he started moving, drawing out until only the tip was in his ass, “this is supposed to feel good.”

And when Tony pushed back in, he punched out a moan from Steve’s lungs. Steve arched his back in pleasure. “You’re so beautiful, baby,” Tony praised, stroking the length of his throat. “Eyes on me. I want to see your beautiful blue eyes.”

Steve tilted his head forward again, opening his eyes, mewling as Tony fucked him in earnest. It was too much for him, with the way that only Tony was the one who never looked at him like he was disgusting when he saw his wings. He touched them like they were the most beautiful things he had ever seen, and praised him like he was something worthy.

Perhaps, in time, Steve could believe it.

But for now, Steve fell over the edge as Tony pressed against the place that made lights spark behind his eyes. It was entirely too much for him, and he shook, flying, flying, flying.

He trusted that Tony would bring him back, keep him safe, and protect him.

-

Steve came back to himself after an indeterminate amount of time. He was on his side, and Tony was behind him and spooning him. His wings were placed carefully behind him, and Tony’s free arm circled around his body, protecting him. 

The other hand was stroking his feathers, combing through them gently, grooming him. He never groomed them before; no one ever groomed them for him either. It was...a heated sensation that rippled down his spine, but for now, he was content to lay there, feeling the digits comb through his feathers. He felt clean; Tony must have cleaned him up while he was gone, and they were under Tony’s blankets. He loved it: it felt like Tony was completely protecting him. 

He shifted, and Tony’s hand in his wings stilled for a moment. Steve didn’t want him to stop: it felt so good, so warm.

“Don’t stop,” Steve begged, and his wings fluttered around Tony’s fingers.

Tony resumed stroking his wings, and Steve sighed happily, burrowing deeper under the covers.

“You’re back?” Tony asked. His voice was gravely with sleep, and Tony stroked Steve’s chest. There was less heat to it; it was more of a soft, protective caress, and Steve felt warm.

Steve hummed. “Thanks for teaching me how to fly,” he whispered.

Tony pressed a kiss to his wings and then made a trail of kisses before he kept his lips pressed against the back of Steve’s neck. “Anytime sweetheart. I’d be happy to join you whenever you want to fly.”

They were silent for a moment, letting silence settle over them.

Steve broke the silence first. “I was worried that I wasn’t good enough for you,” Steve admitted, looking at the floor length windows ahead of him. “That day, I don’t know if you remember, when you asked me if I said something. I said that I wasn’t good enough for you.”

Tony clutched onto him harder. “Are you kidding me,” he said flatly. “You were worried I wasn’t good enough for you when here I was thinking that _ I _ wasn’t good enough for _ you. _ Because you’re Captain America, all-American hero, perfect human. I always thought you had a reason to hide your wings, but I never thought that you weren’t good enough for me. I’m just a mechanical flighted human.”

Steve turned. Even in the dark, Tony’s eyes still shone and glittered. Steve reached up to caress Tony’s face softly, and he said, “You’re perfect. You may be completely flightless, but you made yourself wings. You didn’t let not being able to fly stop you. You’re amazing, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Tony gathered Steve into his arms again, and Steve went willingly, clutching back. Steve _ loved _ him. It was as simple as that.

“You’re perfect too,” Tony said, pressing a kiss into Steve’s hair.

-

As much as Tony promised that the rest of the team wouldn’t judge his wings, old habits died hard, and Steve put the back brace on when they were out and about. Because even though Tony praised his wings every time he saw them (and Steve blushed every time without fail), he was still too scared to know what the rest of the team thought of them.

All of those thoughts fell to the wayside when they were fighting their latest enemy.

“Why are they all chanting ‘Doom?’” Clint asked. “So dumb.”

In the distance, the enemy named Doom yelled out, “Doom shall defeat the Avengers! Especially Iron Man!”

“Dunno,” Tony said. “Can we just get this done and over with because I had plans.”

Steve blushed, because those plans included ravishing Steve, which they had been doing before they were interrupted by the Avengers klaxon. “Less chatter guys,” Steve said instead. He wanted to go home as soon as possible too, be fucked out of his mind again and again, have Tony stroke his wings and groom him until he was completely gone and blissed out. But before that could happen, he had to focus on the task first. “Iron Man, please see if there is a way to turn off the bots collectively, so that we don’t have to defeat each on individually.”

“Hive mind,” Tony said, acknowledging his words, and if Steve focused a little harder (which he definitely wasn’t doing), he could hear the praise in his voice, and Steve’s blush darkened a little harder. “Got it.”

“Everyone else, herd them to Thor so that they can all get shorted out.”

“Good thinking, friend Steven!” Thor’s voice boomed. 

“Code names,” Steve said, fighting two bots and smashing their heads together, aiming his shield at two other bots that were coming towards him ominously.

They slowly and steadily herded the enemy bots to Thor, where he shorted them out with a well-executed bolt of lightning.

“Good work,” Steve praised, and then he automatically sought out for Tony, looking up to the skies in hopes that he would get a glimpse of him, and then he breathed a sigh of relief when he spotted him. Tony was nearby, fighting a large metal bot with spindly arms. 

“Doom shall defeat you!” Doom said.

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony said flatly, and Steve had to hide a smile. “Just stop this. I wanna go home because I had plans before I was _ interrupted.” _

Tony punched the bot with his gauntleted fist, and the mic cut out with static. Steve’s stomach fell to the floor as Tony fell out of the sky, falling towards him in an ungraceful, uncontrolled, tumbling heap, as if Tony lost control of his flight controls.

“Iron Man!” Steve said into his mic, even though he knew it was a futile effort. Tony tumbled freely in the air like a puppet.

“Cap, what’s going on?” a cacophony of voices replied back, but Steve ignored them all.

Tony was going to die at this rate if Steve didn’t stop him. Everyone else was too far away to be of any help.

It had to be him.

There was no time to think; he didn’t need to. His uniform ripped apart as he jumped vertically into the sky and his wings stretched out from their confines, shattering the back brace completely. He wasn’t going to kill another man he cared about because he was too scared. Not this time. Never again.

He failed Bucky once; he wasn’t going to fail Tony.

Steve caught him.

Well, in reality, it was less catching and more like Tony tumbling right into Steve’s waiting arms. He could take the uncontrolled fall; Tony couldn’t. Tony’s arm continued to swing with momentum and smacked Steve’s face. He grunted, but he held on to Tony.

At one point, Tony promised that he wouldn’t fall.

“I won’t let you fall either,” Steve said, flapping his wings powerfully to keep them afloat. “Are you okay, Iron Man?”

“Whew, that was a trip,” Tony said, releasing the catch on his helmet. He looked at Steve’s worried face. “EMP, shorted out my wings.”

Steve’s eyes burned. “You’re safe,” he said wetly. This man was more important than any prejudice and superstition.

Tony nodded, and he lifted his gauntleted arm up to stroke Steve’s face. “You caught me,” Tony said, grinning. “You did a good job.”

He couldn’t help but shed a few tears, and they trailed down his cheek. “I was so scared that you were going to die,” he whispered.

Tony understood; Steve knew Tony understood. “But I didn’t. Look at me Steve, baby, please.” Steve stared into Tony’s eyes: they were fully trusting, just like the way Steve trusted Tony the first time Tony dropped the feather into his lap.

Steve couldn’t help himself: he pressed a kiss onto Tony’s lips, and Tony groaned, clinging onto him and deepening it. Tony fingers pressed against the sides of his torso, and Steve clung to Tony for more reasons than if he were to let go, Tony would fall again, and he wouldn’t let Tony fall, just like when Tony promised Steve that he wouldn’t let him fall.

Steve groaned, feeling the heat of Tony’s fingers emanating through his suit.

“I ripped the suit to get to you,” Steve said into his mouth.

Tony stroked his naked back again, “I know.”

Steve pressed his forehead against Tony’s shoulder.

“While you guys were here smooching your faces off, we did cleanup,” Natasha said. Steve and Tony drew back, blushing before they turned to look at her. She smirked. “You’re welcome.”

“Thank you Widow,” Steve said, embarrassed. But he didn’t let go of Tony, because he realized he didn’t care if they found out that he was so desperately in love with the man he held in his arms, the man who saved him from himself and from the hatred he had for himself.

With Tony by his side, he felt he could stand up to the world, no matter what they said. Especially if they mocked him for his wings.

Natasha gave Steve’s wings barely a passing glance. “Congratulations,” Natasha said instead. “And for your information, Cap, we don’t believe in superstition either. Your wings are beautiful. You don’t need to hide it from us.”

She left, leaving the two alone.

“Put us down?” Tony asked. Steve nodded, and he floated them gently to the ground. Steve clung to Tony, breathing hard. Tony stroked his back, stroking his wings. “I’m so proud of you.”

-

His fears of his wings were assuaged with the fact that Natasha gave her seal of approval, but he was still relieved that the rest of the team didn’t blink an eye when they saw his wings freed and hanging behind him.

“Was that what you were hiding all this time?” Clint snarked, coming over to examine it further, looking past his shoulder. “A fully usable pair of wings under your baggy shirts? Man, I feel so cheated. You could have done so much more than be a flightless supersoldier.”

“Shut up Clint,” Tony snarked back, and he weaved his fingers into Steve’s hand. “And he was still better than you’ll ever be.”

Clint staggered, face twisting into mock horror and hands clutching his heart as if he’s been shot. Everyone laughed at his antics. “Shots fired, shots fired!” Clint bemoaned before he straightened up and told Steve seriously, “I expect more flying stunts next time we’re avenging.”

Steve nodded.

“Your wings are marvelous, friend Steven!” Thor said, clapping his back. Steve noted that he refrained from touching his wing muscles, and for that, he appreciated Thor more. “Truly, I did not understand your choice, but I have heard Natasha’s explanation. Tis most vexatious that a color so exalted in my home should be loaded with such spurious meaning!”

“Thanks Thor,” Steve said. He looked at the rest of the team. They didn’t stare at him in disgust or in horror; Steve could feel the love and the camaraderie as they gathered around him. He could cry again in happiness.

“Let’s go home,” Steve said, squeezing Tony’s hand.

Tony squeezed back and gave him a beautiful smile. “As you were, Cap.”

They took off for the Tower, flying as a team.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a [tumblr](https://la-toratempesta.tumblr.com/)!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] These Wings Were Made to Fly](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22468291) by [only_more_love](https://archiveofourown.org/users/only_more_love/pseuds/only_more_love)


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